


My Way Home is Through You

by FredAndGinger, SpinalBaby



Series: Danger Days [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Combeferrre and Courfeyrac are really worried, Enj is terrible at dealing with things, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, Misunderstandings, Multi, grantaire gets hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:17:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredAndGinger/pseuds/FredAndGinger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinalBaby/pseuds/SpinalBaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Amis trip up to the northern wastelands is not going as planned. After two months of searching for the Californian rebels they're all ready to go home. One day when they make camp Grantaire, Jehan, and Gavroche go to scout out the territory when they find themselves in the middle of a bad situation...</p>
<p>This is a part of the Danger Days series. This story takes place immediately following the main fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Way Home is Through You

The Amis plan to go north was not going well. They had plenty of supplies, they didn’t get into that much trouble, and the cars never broke down, the only problem was that they could not find what they were looking for. 

The rumors that Enjolras had heard centered around a group of rebels who hung out near another corporation-run city. So far, they had gone almost to the top of what should have been California and had yet to meet any. Two months had passed. 

They did find a few settlements of people. It was strange, to see people operating without any real, new supplies. One such place even had a little garden, but it wasn’t doing too well in the heat and radiation. The settlements seemed to find it strange that the Amis wanted to wander out this far, they seemed to think of people from the city as mythical beings, they’d never really met them before, aside from the odd trader who brought them supplies every once in awhile. 

Enjolras was trying to remain hopeful. He encouraged the Amis to start exploring other roads, wandering around the desert of California. They never got to the ocean, there was a big fence cutting them off from it and they were not feeling adventurous enough to climb it. However, he himself did not have that much hope. This whole adventure seemed fruitless. 

They were close to their familiar part of the wastelands now, circling around back roads, looking for any sign of the fabled other city. After another day of nothing but sand, they settled down to make camp.

Bahorel and Courfeyrac were the first out of the cars, and they ran off immediately to explore. They’d all agreed early on that exploring around their camps was a good idea, since they didn’t want to be near any far out Operative posts (it had happened) or too close to someone’s home, lest they creep them out or scare them. Mostly, however, they explored to see if they could find anything new and interesting. 

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were hanging out together. Joly had been in a different car from his boyfriend and girlfriend, and Musichetta had been a little anxious all day. They were setting up the fire and food for everyone, planning to explore when everything was set up. 

Enjolras was recording a radio broadcast to send to Marius, who would play it over the radio later. It was hard to get a clear radio connection this far north, so sending it over the ancient cell towers (while a little dangerous in terms of being tracked) was the better option. 

Grantaire and Jehan were discussing Grantaire’s hair growing back. Jehan was trying to make Grantaire agree to let him shave shapes into the light fuzz that covered his head. Grantaire was actually all for it, but all Jehan wanted to shave was “ENJOLRAS’ BITCH” on the right side of his head, and they couldn’t decide on the spelling, whether is should be spelled “Enjolras’s” or “Enjolras’”. 

“I’m telling you, I know how this works.” Jehan argued. 

“No you do not, Jean Prouvaire.” Grantaire retorted, “I am not running around the wastelands with my fiance’s name spelled _wrong_ on my head.” 

Meanwhile, Combeferre was at his wits end. He had wanted to talk to Courfeyrac about something, but he was nowhere to be found. He also wanted to talk to Enjolras about this whole trip north, their supplies were running low. Not dangerously low, but low enough that they should consider turning back home soon. While this was going on, Gavroche had tried to pick up a fucking snake, right in front of him. 

“But Combeferre” Gavroche whined as Combeferre smacked his hand away from the rattling snake, “It makes a cool sound!” 

“Oh my god.” Combeferre said, rubbing his forehead, “I cannot deal with you right now.” He turned and saw Grantaire and Jehan not doing anything and stalked over to them, Gavroche-protesting-in tow. 

“Hey Ferre.” Jehan said in a too innocent voice, as if Combeferre hadn’t overheard their plan to write obscenities into Grantaire’s hair, “What’s up?” 

“You two need to take this kid away before he ends up getting killed by something.” He said, shoving Gavroche’s arm into Jehan’s grip. He glared. “Or someone.”

“What? My angel? Never.” Jehan said, grinning at Gavroche. The kid gave him a smile back, twice as big. “Grantaire, we should go out for a walk or something, that’s what you do with pets that have too much energy, right?”

“Hey!” Gavroche protested, offended. 

…

Jehan, Grantaire, and Gavroche set out to explore. Grantaire had found a spray paint can in one of the settlements they’d passed through and he promised Gavroche that he’d let him write swear words on walls with it. So they were searching for anything that resembled a wall. 

The found something, about twenty minutes after they started out. It was a little shack and it looked all rusty and gross, it had to be abandoned, right? There was a door though, and they weren’t stupid enough to just start painting on the walls. It could be an Operative outpost, you never know. 

“I’ll check it out.” Grantaire said, heading for the door. 

“I wanna check it out too!” Gavroche said, speeding up to go with. Jehan grabbed his arm and held him back at a safe distance. 

“Gavroche, you need to chill.” He warned, “If you don’t calm the fuck down we won’t let you write ‘fuck’ all over the walls. We’ll write love poetry. And Grantaire will draw pictures of Enjolras. Naked.” 

“I will!” Grantaire chimed from where he stood, about to open the door. 

“Ew!” Gavroche groaned, “You guys are gross!” 

Grantaire laughed a little and opened the door. It was unlocked, which was a good sign. He took a quick look inside. There were a couple of stacks of boxes, but nothing out of the ordinary. He figured it was safe. 

He turned to his friends to tell them so, when he felt something against his throat. There was a sharp pain on his neck as he wrenched out of the arms of whoever was trying to kill him. He started to turn, drawing his gun, and he felt the knife enter his back. 

The knife was still in his back when he turned to see his attacker. He didn’t get to turn all the way though. He heard two loud bangs, like mini explosions. He felt those tiny explosions in his shoulders and he fell to his knees. A third explosion sent him down to his stomach. 

He was bleeding, and not just from the knife wound. He could feel hot blood gushing from the three holes in his back. He realized that he was making a weird pained noise, and tried to stop. 

“Jehan!” He cried, trying to warn him to get Gavroche out of there. He looked up from the sand and saw Jehan, gun drawn, going down as whatever had hit Grantaire hit him as well, only in the arm. Grantaire reached out, though his shoulder and back burned in pain, as though he could help. 

“Gavroche, run!” Jehan yelled. Grantaire saw the kid, who had been standing wide eyed, start into action. Gavroche turned on his heel and ran. 

Grantaire was feeling lightheaded. Darkness tinted the edges of his vision. He thought he saw Jehan trying to get his attention, but his vision was swimming and he couldn’t tell if what he saw was true. After a moment, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

…

Gavroche ran all the way to camp. The run seemed to take forever, his legs were burning from it, and his lungs were burning and begging for water. Water was not a priority though. 

He looked around wildly. Gavroche had hoped Courfeyrac and Bahorel had come back, so he could tell them what happened. He knew that Courfeyrac would be able to do something, and Bahorel just seemed safe. They weren’t back though, so he couldn’t tell them. 

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were gone. They had finished making camp and dinner was cooking slowly over a fire. It was weird, like a parody of normality. Gavroche groaned and headed to the only two adults who were actually there, Enjolras and Combeferre. 

He did not want to tell Combeferre. Combeferre was mad at him and would probably think that this whole thing was Gavroche’s fault somehow. It wasn’t, by the way. But Enjolras was not paying attention to him, would not look up from whatever it was he was doing no matter how much Gavroche screamed and shouted. 

“What on earth are you doing?” Combeferre asked, sounding annoyed. Gavroche sighed, sure that the universe was working against him. 

“Grantaire got shot!” He said urgently to Combeferre, “We need help.” 

“Shot? Where? Gavroche, where are Grantaire and Jehan?” He asked, looking down at the   
young boy. He knew this wasn’t a joke, he could see Gavroche was genuinely frightened, “Where are they?”

“I’ll show you, but we need Enjolras!” Gavroche said, feeling impatient, “We have to go fast, it looked bad.” 

“Right.” Combeferre nodded a bit as he grabbed Enjolras’ gun that rested on the hood of one of the cars at the moment. He ran over to the blond, forcefully pulling off his headphones and pushing the gun into his palm, “Grantaire is hurt. Bad.” Combeferre didn’t need to say much to get his point across, seeing all the blood drain from Enjolras’ face in seconds.

“Where is he?”

…

Gavroche led them through the desert towards the “abandoned” shack. He tried to answer their questions as they ran, but he didn’t know how. 

No, he didn’t know what happened. Yes, Jehan looked hurt too. Yes, Grantaire was alive (as far as he knew). No, it didn’t look like Operatives. Combeferre and Enjolras kept demanding answers and Gavroche just didn’t know. 

He was about to explode on them, because he was worried too, he didn’t want Grantaire and Jehan to be hurt, he loved them, and Enjolras and Combeferre were acting like he did something wrong and he just didn’t know what happened. But then they got there. 

…

Grantaire was lying on the ground. The sand around him was stained red and Jehan was holding two spots on Grantaire’s back, blood seeping through his fingers. There was the hilt of a knife sticking out of the back of Grantaire’s jacket. Combeferre assumed that they’d left it there to hold in the man’s blood, and he was grateful. Grantaire surely would have bled out already if they hadn’t. 

“See, we aren’t Ops.” Jehan was saying to two teenagers, who had guns trained on him. Well, used to have guns trained on him. Now one of them was pointed at Enjolras and Combeferre. Enjolras recognized it as Grantaire’s laser gun. The other seemed weird, like one he’d seen in old movies that Valjean had. 

“You could be disguised.” The girl, the one holding the strange gun, said. 

“Have you ever seen an Operative in disguise?” Jehan asked, sounding exasperated, like he’d been having this conversation for a while. 

“I’ve only seen one once.” The girl replied, “And you’ve got the same clothes.” 

It was kind of true. Jehan had stolen an Operative’s white coat a few weeks back, thinking that he’d draw on it or dye it or something. They didn’t have the supplies for that though, so it was just white for now. Enjolras cursed the coat. 

“Would Ops have a kid?” Combeferre asked. The teenagers glanced at Gavroche, as though they hadn’t noticed or really considered him before. Gavroche was just staring at Grantaire, wide eyed. He looked stunned, like he had expected Grantaire to be better. 

Combeferre glanced at Enjolras while the teenagers were thinking. The blond hadn’t said anything yet and Combeferre would really have appreciated his help right now, but he seemed transfixed on Grantaire, like he wanted to run over and help, but he knew he couldn’t. 

“No.” The boy teenager said at last, “Operatives wouldn’t have a kid.” 

“So we’re not Ops!” Jehan argued. 

“But there’s something weird going on anyways.” The girl countered, “First Ops show up, then you guys? It can’t be a coincidence.” 

“Can you just let us take him to go get help?” Combeferre asked, “We’ve got a doctor who can make sure he doesn’t bleed out.” 

“That could be a trap.” The boy said. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Jehan said, “He’s _dying_.”

Combeferre saw Enjolras start a little, like that was the only part of the conversation that had registered in his mind. Combeferre would be more concerned if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand, but it was kind of surreal for Enjolras to be this _silent_.

“Can you bring the doctor here?” The girl asked at length, “And only the doctor?” 

“Yeah, and get the kid out of here.” The boy said, “He shouldn’t see this.” 

Jehan swallowed whatever he seemed to want to say and nodded, about to get up. He paused. 

“Hey Enj, sweetie?” He asked, turning towards the leader, “Can you put pressure on these?”

Enjolras started again at being talked to. He moved forward and put his gun back in its holster, placing his hands where Jehan’s had been. Grantaire’s skin was soaked in blood, and it felt like it was seeping into his hands, staining them. 

Jehan got up, wiping his hands on his jacket. It left coppery-red streaks. “I’ll be back.” He said, and he took Gavroche’s hand and ran off back to camp. 

Combeferre edged forward, trying to get a better look at Grantaire’s injuries. 

“How did you do that?” He asked, directing the question at the girl, who was holding the odd gun. 

“Don’t you have guns like this in the city?” The girl asked. 

“Guns like this?” Combeferre asked, confused. He’d never seen an actual gun like that. The ones he’d seen in Valjean’s old movies had shot bullets, little bits of lead. “Wait, do those shoot bullets?” 

“Yeah.” The boy said in a “well duh” tone. “What else would they shoot?” 

“Ours shoot lasers. They’re solar powered.” Combeferre said. 

“Really?” The boy asked, looking delighted, “Wow, I’ve only heard about those in stories!” 

He raised his arm, pointing at the horizon and shooting. There was a zap noise, typical to the laser guns. He laughed a little. 

Enjolras heard the sound. He had been too focused on Grantaire, staring at him and willing him to live, he hadn’t been focused on the conversation. At the sound of the zap, though, he let go of his fiance, drawing his gun. Fighting must have started, he needed to protect Grantaire. 

The girl called out a warning to the boy. He turned to see Enjolras’ gun trained on him. He raised his own gun, more out of habit than anything. Enjolras pulled his trigger and the boy went down. 

He’d shot him in the head. The girl screamed, raising her gun to shoot back. She missed, she was more accustomed to holding a knife, never practiced much with the gun. He shot her too. 

Combeferre had rushed forward to tackle her, but he was too late. She fell dead at his feet. Combeferre stared at her for a long moment while her forehead smoked, before looking at Enjolras. 

“What?” He asked. Enjolras was shaking slightly, but he put the gun down, putting his hands back over Grantaire’s wounds to keep his blood in. 

“I meant to fire a warning shot at him.” Enjolras said quietly. “It was supposed to be a warning shot.” 

Combeferre considered this. It was obviously not a warning shot, Enjolras had hit them both in the dead center of their heads. He didn’t want to aggravate him though, and he didn’t want to yell at him now, not with Grantaire in the state he was in. 

“Okay.” He said. “It was a warning shot.” 

Enjolras nodded. 

Joly arrived on site shortly after, running straight for Grantaire with his odd limp. Jehan was right behind him, but he practically froze in his tracks when he saw the two corpses lying in the sand. 

“What happened?” The ginger gasped.

Combeferre saw Enjolras give him a look, but the blond’s attention was quickly turned back to Joly who was starting to move Grantaire around. “Enjolras tried to fire a warning shot- he missed.”

“Missed?” Jehan sounded shocked.

“The kid tried to shoot him afterwards.” Combeferre added.

Jehan nodded wordlessly, looking back to the two over by Grantaire.

“We have to cauterize this.” Joly said, biting his lip. “We can’t move him like this. He’ll bleed out before we drag him twenty feet in this condition.”

“Cauterize the wound?” Combeferre asked as he retrieved the teenager’s guns. He briefly inspected the gun the girl had held, but didn’t dwell, giving Joly a serious look.

“Enjolras, hand me the antiseptic spray.” Joly held his hand out. He expected a rather quick response, but after a second he turned, to see Enjolras staring at the bag and its contents. He was shaking slightly, as if unsure what to grab. Joly reached past him, pulling the spray out of the bag. He was worried about the blond, but Grantaire needed help immediately. 

He had already cut off Grantaire’s jacket and shirt and had began to clean the two bullet wounds, working fast. “Combeferre, I need that gun.”

“Of course,” Combeferre handed over the gun, swallowing. Jehan looked nervous as he stood by the two men. Everyone was around Grantaire now. Joly messed with the setting on the side of the gun before aiming it, holding the wound together as he began to cauterize it. Grantaire’s sleep abruptly ended as he screamed in agony. Enjolras jolted, but Combeferre quickly put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from interfering. 

After he’d managed to seal up the first two he cleaned them both with Jehan’s help and carefully moved to turn Grantaire onto his side. Enjolras would no longer sit by idly at this point, so he ended up cradling his fiance’s head in lap. He pressed his face into the side of Grantaire’s head, whispering some unintelligible comforts. Grantaire continued to scream, and Enjolras’ whispering intensified.

Joly tried to pull the knife out in one smooth motion, but it was serrated, and stuck more than it should have. He swallowed his discomfort and yanked out the blade, quickly moving to clean it and cauterize it, determined to keep the blood loss to a minimum. 

Finally, it was all over after a little more struggle and an odd silence fell over the three of them as they watched the couple. Enjolras was quiet once more, but he cradled Grantaire’s head as the man whimpered. He was shaking. But now Grantaire was alright. He was going to be fine now, he could let go. Still, he didn’t.

…

They got Grantaire back to the camp. The man passed out again halfway through the walk and everyone was pretty grateful for that. Joly attended to Jehan’s arm and they told the others what had happened. Bossuet and Musichetta crowded around the unconscious Grantaire before Joly shooed them away, telling them to give him space. 

When he woke up again Joly gave him some water and painkillers. He went to sleep soon after, drifted away in a hazy pain. 

Combeferre took Enjolras’ gun when the man wasn’t looking. It’s not that he didn’t trust his friend, it was just that he was a little scared. Enjolras was freaking him out. He wasn’t leaving Grantaire’s side, not even for food and water. Musichetta even tried to bring some to him, but he just seemed to look through her, like she wasn’t there. The other Amis started to avoid him, he was kind of freaking everyone else out too. 

Combeferre steeled his nerves and approached the man, sitting next to him. 

“Hey.” He said, “How is he?” 

Enjolras glanced at him with that weird look in his eyes, before looking back at Grantaire, “He’s making weird noises in his sleep.” 

As if to prove this, Grantaire made a pained noise. Combeferre winced as Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s short hair comfortingly. 

“Oh.” Combeferre said. “Enj, I’ve got to talk to you. About those kids.” 

“What about them?” Enjolras asked, sounding slightly irritated. Combeferre wasn’t sure if this show of emotion was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“You know that what you did wasn’t right, Enj.” He said, frowning a little. “You shouldn’t have killed those kids.” 

“I… I know.” Enjolras said, furrowing his brow, as if he was trying to remember something. “It just- something about them… Something made me snap and… I don’t know what happened. I- I don’t know.” The man sighed, and frowned. “But they were pointing at Grantaire. They’re the reason he’s like this right now.” 

“Yeah.” Combeferre agreed. “They are. But they were just stupid, scared kids, Enj.”

“I know.” Enjolras said, quietly. “I’m not sorry though.”

Combeferre swallowed. There was something very wrong with Enjolras right now. He patted his friend on the shoulder and walked away. He needed to talk to Courfeyrac. 

Courfeyrac was preoccupied with Gavroche and Jehan. He came away with Combeferre when he asked though, so maybe the other two were fine enough to be left on their own. 

“So.” Courfeyrac sighed, “What’s going on?” 

“How’re Gavroche and Jehan?” Combeferre asked. He wanted to buy time, he didn’t really know what to say. Also he did care about their wellbeing. 

“Well, they didn’t have to cauterize Jehan, which is a plus. From what I hear the whole cauterization thing was pretty terrifying. Gavroche is kind of traumatized, but he’ll be fine when Grantaire gets better.” Courfeyrac said, “The kid is tough, he’ll be fine. But you could have asked them yourself.”

“Yeah.” Combeferre said, “I didn’t really pull you away to ask about them.” 

“I figured.” Courfeyrac said with a shrug. “So tell me what’s going on. Everyone’s acting weird. I mean I know Grantaire’s hurt, but Joly said it wasn’t _too_ bad. He’ll probably be fine.”

“It’s not really Grantaire that we’re worried about.” Combeferre admitted, “It’s Enj. He kind of shot these two kids and now he’s acting really strange.” 

“I heard he shot them in self defense.” Courfeyrac said, confused. 

“Yeah, that’s what I told everyone.” Combeferre said, “But I think it’s something else. I think he had an episode or something, you know how he was after the bombing.” 

“You think he shot those kids on purpose?” 

“Yeah.” Combeferre said, “But not exactly? Like he wouldn’t have shot them if he was in the right mindset, but he wasn’t. It’s like he wasn’t himself at all. He still isn’t.” 

“Well.” Courfeyrac said after a pause. “What are we supposed to do?” 

“I don’t know.” Combeferre said, “I thought you’d know.” 

“Well I don’t know.” Courfeyrac said, “You’re the one who’s good at this stuff.” 

Combeferre sighed. Why did people think he was good at this stuff? He was the exact opposite of good at this stuff. 

“I just thought I’d let you know.” He said, resigned. “If you think of anything, tell me.” 

“Okay.” Courfeyrac said, “And thanks for telling me, Ferre. I appreciate actually being told stuff.” 

Combeferre huffed out a short laugh. Courfeyrac went to go make sure Jehan and Gavroche hadn’t melted down while he was gone. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

…

Things were not better in the morning. Grantaire had gotten an infection overnight and Joly was struggling to treat it. They didn’t have many antibiotics to begin with and they’d used some already. Enjolras was on edge, which put Joly on edge while he tried to administer the medicine to Grantaire, who was too out of it to be helpful. 

Combeferre was trying to avoid that mess, helping everyone pack things into cars for the drive back. He was glad to be headed home, this nomadic bullshit was stressing everyone out, though they had tried to stay optimistic. While everyone was packing Combeferre felt a hand on his arm. It was Musichetta. She motioned for him to follow her, so they could speak in private. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, once they’d gotten far enough away from the others. He assumed she wanted to talk about Joly and how Enjolras was kind of being a dick to him at the moment. He did not want to have this conversation.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” She said, frowning, “Joly told me about the kids, and I know you said it was a misfire, but I trained with everyone, I know how Enjolras shoots. There is no way he shot two kids in the head by accident. It’s impossible.” 

Combeferre sighed. He’d forgotten that Musichetta basically taught all of them how to use guns. He didn’t want to incite mass panic though, if they knew that their leader had basically lost his mind for a minute there. He glanced back at the camp, as if to reassure himself that no one was listening in. 

“It does seem impossible.” He said at length. He paused. “Enjolras isn’t acting himself.”

“I know.” She said, and frowned. Combeferre didn’t want to tell her outright that there was something wrong, but he didn’t want to leave her in the dark, exactly. 

“He’ll get better when Grantaire’s better.” Combeferre assured her, trying to assure himself. He’d never seen his friend quite like he had yesterday, and he never wanted to see him like that again. 

“What if he doesn’t get better?” Musichetta asked quietly, as if she was afraid to tempt fate by speaking her fear aloud. Combeferre shrugged helplessly. He had no idea. 

…

The ride back was miserable. Joly and Grantaire were shoved in the backseat of Baby 2.0 while Enjolras was sitting in the passenger seat, anxious. Courfeyrac was driving, and he kept looking over at his friend, concerned. He hadn’t spoken since they got in the car. It was unnerving. 

It only took three hours to get to the base that Valjean was staying at. They’d radioed ahead to make sure it was alright that they came, but it wasn’t like the man was going to deny them. Courfeyrac got there first, and he’d hardly parked the car before Enjolras was out, trying to get Grantaire out too so they could go inside. 

They’d gotten Grantaire into the cramped base. It was really only meant for Valjean and it was small, a little bombed out house. It had been built after the wars from debris, and it looked terrible from the outside. Courfeyrac left after dropping off his friends. They had stuff to do, and he needed to start looking for a house. There was no way they could stay with Valjean for more than a few days and the Patron Minette definitely wouldn’t let them stay with them. 

Jehan got to Valjean’s next, but it was a lot later than everyone expected. It was because he’d gone to the Thenardier’s and picked up some heavy duty antibiotics (and sold the girl’s gun, the one with bullets, to buy it.) Joly was grateful, and after he administered the antibiotic he left Combeferre to watch Grantaire and Enjolras, leaving to go help Courfeyrac in his search for a temporary house. 

It was quiet. Valjean asked Combeferre what happened and Combeferre wished that they’d left Courfeyrac here, not him. Courfeyrac loved telling the same story, over and over again. He’d be great at this. Valjean accepted the story more readily than Combeferre had expected him to, but then again Valjean didn’t know that Enjolras had shot two kids in the head. He’d left that part out. 

…

“Enjolras.” Grantaire said, his eyes fluttering open, then closing again. He was fighting them and losing. He felt a pressure on his hand, more gentle than the intense pain in his back. “Enjolras.” 

“I’m here.” Enjolras’ voice said, comforting. Grantaire relaxed a little. 

“I love you.” Grantaire said. He was so hot and his back hurt so badly. He was sure he was going to die, this must be what death felt like. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. “Remember.” 

“I love you too, R.” Enjolras said. His voice sounded weird. Grantaire tried to look at him again, but to no avail. “Remember what?” 

“Remember me.” Grantaire said, and he let his eyes win the fight, for now.

… 

Musichetta was the one who ended up finding their new base. It was a run down motel. Half of it had been destroyed in the most recent bombing, but the other half was fine and it still had running water. There were ten rooms, and that was more than enough for them. 

They moved Grantaire there after they checked to make sure it wasn’t bugged by Ops. Once they were moved in, Grantaire’s fever broke. Joly nearly cried, he was so relieved. Bossuet did cry. It was a good day. 

“Hey.” Grantaire said, when he finally woke up. He had been in and out of hazy, half awakeness, spouting nonsense through his fever. But it sounded like he was lucid now. 

“Hey.” Enjolras said back. 

“What happened?” Grantaire asked, wincing as he tried to move. He was on painkillers, but the extent of the damage was too bad for the little pills to take away all the pain. He had to be laid on his stomach so he wouldn’t be on his wounds, and the position felt awkward. 

“You got shot.” Enjolras said, his voice choking up a little bit. Grantaire kind of remembered that, actually. He was more wondering where they were. 

“Yeah.” Grantaire agreed, “That seems like something I’d do.” 

Enjolras bit out a water laugh. “It was pretty bad.” 

“It felt pretty bad.” Grantaire agreed, “What the hell did they shoot me with, little bombs?” 

“Bullets.” Enjolras corrected. Grantaire frowned in confusion. 

“Bullets? Like real bullets? Holy shit. That’s insane.” He said, moving as if he wanted to see the bullet wounds. He hissed in pain and stopped moving. “Wait, but I remember getting burned? Or something?”

“We had to cauterize it.” Enjolras said, biting his lip. He did not want to think about cauterizing the wound. The screams still haunted his nightmares. 

“Oh.” Grantaire said. “That makes sense. Who shot me? Was it an Op?” 

“No.” Enjolras said, shaking his head, “It was a rebel.”

“Why?” 

“They thought you were an Op.” 

Grantaire let out a short laugh, but stopped since laughing hurt. “They thought _I_ was an Op? Really? Oh man. That’s hilarious.” 

“Not really.” Enjolras said. Grantaire looked back at him to see he was frowning, trying to hold back tears, “It wasn’t funny, Grantaire.” 

“Oh. Enj.” He tried to move to touch the blond’s face, but it was too painful to move his arm. He settled for squeezing the man’s hand, which was in reaching distance. “I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry.” 

“You are not ‘fine’. R, you’ve got four bullets in your back! And you got stabbed! That is the opposite of fine.” Enjolras protested.

“I mean, I’m alive.” Grantaire argued. 

“Barely.” 

At that moment, Joly walked in. “You’re awake?”

“I think so.” Grantaire said. “This could all be a dream though. None of us might be real.” 

“Well, then you’re awake in this dream of existence.” Joly countered, “And that’s good enough for medical purposes. I gotta get Ferre so we can do some tests- uh, so we can do some _things_ so we know if you’ve got brain damage.” 

“Oh good, brain damage. Just what I need.” Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras got up to leave, but Grantaire didn’t let go of his hand. 

“Yeah?” The blond asked. Grantaire smiled at him a little. 

“I’ll be okay. Can I get a goodbye kiss?” 

Enjolras swallowed, remembering his fiance’s feverish ramblings for him to “remember” him, like he was going to die. He thought he’d given Grantaire their goodbye kiss hours ago. 

He bent down and kissed his cheek, before patting the light fuzz that was his hair. “Be good for the doctors.” 

…

While Enjolras was waiting outside of the room, Musichetta came to talk to him. 

“So I hear Grantaire woke up.” She said, sitting beside him. He nodded. 

“Yeah. And he’s making jokes, so I think he’ll be fine.” 

“That’s good.” She said with a smile, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Is it about the base? Because I don’t think I can concentrate on money stuff, I haven’t gotten real sleep in… oh god, how many days has it been?” Enjolras tried to remember, but he couldn’t. 

“No, it’s not about the base. It’s about what happened. Enjolras, I know you killed those kids.” She said, lowering her voice to a whisper. 

Enjolras steeled his expression, “It was a warning shot.” He’d repeated those words too many times to himself, “I misfired.”

“Sure.” She said, frowning, “You misfired twice. At two kids’ heads.” 

Enjolras looked away. When she said it it made the guilt resurface as if it had just happened. Grantaire had kept his mind occupied enough he’d been able to forget about it temporarily. 

“Musichetta,” He glanced back in her direction, “The truth is I don’t know what happened. I don’t want to talk about it either. I want to forget about all of this. We should be focusing on Grantaire, not me.” He held himself uncomfortably, shifting where he stood, “I heard the gun and I thought- I just thought about Grantaire. I thought he was in danger.”

Musichetta sighed. She wanted to yell at him. She hardly liked it when they killed Operatives, and these two kids, while far from harmless, were not the bad guys. But she remembered what Combeferre had told her, about Enjolras not being himself. 

“I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose.” She said, “But what if you think he’s in danger with one of us next time? Are you gonna fire another warning shot?”

“Musichetta, I wouldn't-” he wasn't entirely sure how to respond. He wouldn't, would he? He had more control than that. And yet he felt like he hadn't had any when he shot the two teenagers. “I wouldn't.” He repeated a little more firmly. “It was just a slip up. A one time thing.” 

“I don’t know.” Musichetta said, “Normally you wouldn’t shoot two kids.” 

Enjolras’ hand wandered to where he normally kept his gun holstered. It was the first time he'd thought about it since Grantaire had been shot. When he felt nothing there he looked up at Musichetta, “Where's my gun?” 

“I don’t know.” She said, “Enjolras, I want to believe you, but you’ve been acting weird. Maybe you should talk to Combeferre.” 

“I promise, I’d never endanger any of our friends.” Enjolras said, panic mounting in his chest over his missing gun. Where could he have left it? He didn’t leave it by the kids, did he? Where could it be? 

“Alright.” Musichetta said, “I’ll hold you to it.” 

…

Enjolras did go to talk to Combeferre, after he made sure that Grantaire was okay. Joly assured him that he was pretty sure his fiance didn’t have brain damage, so Enjolras thanked him and pulled Combeferre out of the room to talk to him in private. 

“Do you know where my gun is?” He asked first. He knew that he should probably talk about other stuff, but he was nervous now that he knew he didn’t have it. He felt naked, unprotected. 

“I have it in my room.” Combeferre replied. “I… it’s not that I didn’t trust you, it’s just…” 

“There’s something wrong with me, Ferre. I think I went crazy.” Enjolras admitted. That’s what Combeferre was probably thinking anyways. “Musichetta talked to me and I’m a little worried.”

“I know.” Combeferre said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re feeling better now though, right?”

“Yeah, a lot better.” Enjolras agreed. “But what if he gets hurt again? What if I do something stupid because he got hurt?” 

“That won’t be a problem right now.” Combeferre assured him, “He’ll be on bed rest for a few more weeks and then there’ll be physical therapy and he won’t be able to strain himself. You don’t have to deal with that today.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Enjolras said, trying to calm his panic. “Can I… I know you don’t feel safe, but can I have my gun back? Please? I just… I need it.” 

Combeferre searched his friend’s face and saw the panic, the familiar look he’d seen every time before Enjolras succumbed to panic attacks. They had gotten better in the years since the bombing, but he supposed that with everything that’d been happening over the last year, and recent events, the panic attacks would be back again. He nodded and went to his room to get the gun. 

…

Weeks passed. Grantaire started physical therapy and was slowly weaned off his pain meds, which he was not happy about. Enjolras spent a lot of time by his side, but slowly began to go back to doing his normal things, leading their group, planning missions, making radio broadcasts. Things were slowly returning to normal. 

“We should talk to him.” Courfeyrac said to Combeferre one day, “He should know what happened.” 

“He does know what happened.” Combeferre countered, though he knew it was a lie. They’d given the very watered down version of events to Grantaire. He was high at the time though, so he’d accepted it completely. 

“We should tell him.” Courfeyrac insisted. Combeferre sighed. 

“Fine. We can tell him. But I’m not telling him alone this time.” Combeferre had had enough of telling this story. 

…

“Hey guys, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Grantaire asked as they two of them entered his room. They exchanged a look. It was never good when they exchanged a look. 

“So, have you noticed Enjolras acting strange lately?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“I think I’d have to be blind or something to not notice it.” Grantaire replied, “Do you know why? I chalked it up to me getting hurt, but he’s been acting weird for a long time.” Grantaire frowned, considering just what was wrong with the blond. “He’s quiet.” 

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac agreed, “We know. Well, we thought-” 

“You.” Combeferre interjected. Courfeyrac glared. 

“ _I_ thought, it would be a good idea to tell you what happened after you got shot.” Courfeyrac corrected. Grantaire looked at them curiously. 

“I heard it was a misfire. Enjolras accidentally killed one of them and then killed the other one in self defense?” 

“Well, that’s not exactly it.” Courfeyrac said, shooting Combeferre a pleading look. Combeferre sighed. 

“He shot two teenagers in the head.” He said bluntly, “It was a perfect shot, and Musichetta doesn’t think it was an accident but… it was weird, it was like Enjolras wasn’t himself. He wasn’t seeing two teenagers, he was just seeing a threat.” 

Grantaire swallowed. That was bad. He didn’t know what to say, he opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“What?” He finally asked. “Why would he just kill them?” 

“I mean, they did almost kill you.” Courfeyrac said, defending their friend, “And apparently one of them looked like he was actually going to shoot you?” 

“Yeah.” Combeferre confirmed. Grantaire nodded. 

“Well.” He said. “That’s a lot to think about. Uh. It explains a lot. What am I supposed to do? How can I help him?” 

“We don’t really know.” Combeferre said, “Just try to make things less stressful for him, I guess. We’re hoping he just gets better with time.” 

“Okay.” Grantaire said, “Less stressful. I can do that.” 

…

Time passed. It had been a few months since Grantaire had been injured and he was on his way to a “full recovery”. It still hurt for him to raise his arms above his head, and lifting things was a bad idea for now, but he was feeling better. 

Enjolras seemed to be doing better as well. He was still quiet though, and he seemed to form an attachment to his gun. Cleaning it seemed to sooth him, while it put Grantaire on edge. One day, he walked in on Enjolras just staring at it. 

“Hey babe.” He said, walking in slowly. Enjolras didn’t look up. Grantaire sat beside him. “Babe.” 

Enjolras started and looked at him, before glancing at his gun, then back at him. 

“Apollo, what’s wrong?” He asked. 

“I killed those kids, R.” He said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to kill them. But I wasn’t sorry, why wasn’t I sorry?” 

“Hey, hey.” Grantaire pulled the gun out of Enjolras’s hands. The blond gripped it tighter for a moment, before allowing him to take it away. “I know that you didn’t want to kill them. You did what you needed to do.” 

“I did what I needed to do.” Enjolras echoed. That sounded right. “Yeah.” 

“Everything’s going to be okay.” Grantaire said, wrapping the blond in his arms, “Everything will be fine.”


End file.
